This is the mystery for me... how catching fish holds so tightly to my heart.... why? Most of the time it doesn't make sense but every now it becomes clear for just a moment and then it disappears beneath the surface of time.
This is a typical Indiana smallmouth stream.... in the mist and sounds I rediscover the me I hope to be....
Old barns stand sentinel over the land and streams, landmarks that reveal recent history of places I fish.
These little rivulets are all over Northern Indiana, draining farm fields, forests. If they are clear the rivers are usually fishable. I love the reflection of the sky they trace upon the land.
.....a bridge to my past or my future... what lies beneath? 
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